• And end3 his flaming progress in the sea;
From east to west thy grandeur he proclaims,

And thro' his radiant kingdoms spreads thy praise,

Thou didst prepare for the waters their capacious bed, and set bounds to the raging billows; by thee the hills were crowned with plenty, and the valleys dressed in their flow'ry pride; the summer and win'ter, the shady night, and the bright revolutions of the day are thine; in all the wonderful effects of nature, we adore and confess, thy power.

• Thou rid'st upon the-wild tempestuous wind,
'And flying storms obey thy potent voice;
Sublime on clouds thy dark pavilion set,

With shades and gloomy majesty involv'd;
Thy hands the pointed light'nings lance around,
While peals of thunder shake the firmament;
At thy approach the kindling forests smoke,

And from their base the trembling mountains start;
The rivers ebb and flow at thy command,
Observe their wonted course, or run reverse;
At thy rebuke the frighted waves divide, GAST
And with stupendous motion backward roll
Their chrystal volumes to their inmost spring.
Thou all things canst, thy mighty mandate heard,
Necessity and nature are no more:-

Th' obedient elements resign their league,
'And wonderful effects attest the God.'

These, my dear friend, are the entertainments that brighten my solitude, and free my soul from its former engagements; those fading graces, on which I once doated, vanish before a superior excellence, as stars 'before the rising sun; instead of repining, I adore, I justify the great dispensing Power, that has removed the darling of my affections, to fix them on immortal beauty, I have lost nothing amiable or attractive, but what is found with divine advantage in the fair Original.

I know you will congratulate me on this happy change. It must please you to find that your pious instructions, joined to the sanctity of your example, have not been entirely lost on,

Reverend Sir,

Sir,

LETTER XII.

To the same.

I HAVE obeyed your commands, in sending the inclosed. You will not require an apology, for an essay on this transporting subject Joy and gratitude will speak, however disproportioned the expressions.

ON OUR SAVIOUR'S NATIVITY.

Victorious Love! how uncontroul'd thy pow'r!
How great thy triumph on that glorious hour!,
The high-rais'd thrones above look'd down to see,
The vanquish'd God a captive led by thee.
His splendour in mortality disguis'd,
The principalities of heav'n surpriz'd:

Th' indulgent skies smil'd on the happy birth,
While peace and joyful wonder hush'd the earth.
Fly rigid winter with thy horrid face,

And let the soft and lovely spring take place;
Oh! come, thou fairest season of the year,
With garlands deck'd, and verdant robes appear;
At once produce the summer's various cost,
Whatever sweets her flow'ry stores can boast:
Full cannisters of Sharon's roses spread,
And dress with art th' illustrious Infant's bed;
Rifle the gardens, search the painted fields,
For all the blooming glories nature yields.

But, O ye products of the earth! how poor
To heav'n's enamell'd plains are all your store
Perpetual greens, and never fading flow'rs,
Enrich with soft perfumes th' immortal bow'rs;
And yet he left the bright ethereal seats,
For these cold regions, and obscure retreats.

!

Be hush'd, ye winds, no angry tempests rove; But sink in gentle whispers through the grove: With all Arabia load your balmy wings,

And breathe the fragrance of ten thousand springs.

Begin, ye sweet musicians of the air!
Let nature all her soothing sounds prepare;
Let tuneful art her various measures bring,
Each melting tone, and ev'ry warbling string;
Let psalt'ries, harps, and the loud cymbal ring;
Let the shrill trumpets raise their sprightly voice,
While Carmel, and high Lebanon rejoice.

He comes, O Jacob, thy long-promis'd King!
Celestial envoys the glad tidings bring:
O'er earth's wide compass to the distant main,
With truth and perfect justice he shall reign.
The sparkling stars shall tarnish and decay,
The sun be quench'd, the stars shall fade away:
But he shall rise with a propitious light,

Stand at high-noon, and shine divinely bright.

I shall now leave you to your own sublimer contemplation on this unbounded theme, and subscribe myself, Sir,

Your most obedient humble servant,

AMINTORI

LETTER

XIII.

To a gentleman in France, from his sister; giving him a relation of her lover's misfortunes.

My dear brother,

As my passion for Valerius had in its beginning your approbation, you will not blame my constancy at a juncture when the unhappy youth had no other consolation. His misfortunes have brought those virtues into view, which in the height of prosperity, he never found occa sion to exert; and, as his merit rises, you will not reproach me, in finding my attachment to him more stea dy and resolved than in the splendour of his fortune.

You know how much my father piques himself on his quality, and how averse he was, when you left us, to Valerius' proposal, on no other account but his being a citizen; thoughyamantofi great virtue and wealth.

Ꮓ

However, this last motive, after some deliberation, prevailed. I was suffered to receive his addresses, and every thing was preparing to celebrate the marriage.

Valerius had always behaved himself in so obsequious a mauner to his father, that he put a considerable stock into his hands, which the young merchant had improved, by two or three successful voyages into Turky; so that it was in his power to make a settlement vastly above my fortune, and far beyond my father's expectation. But while the lawyers were busy in drawing up the articles, an unexpected misfortune put a stop to the whole affair,

The father of Valerius was an honest man, but exceeding credulous; and was (unknown to his son) drawn into many engagements for the debts of an extravagant brother, to whose interest the compassionate old man was too much attached. He soon found his error, being surprised with several arrests on his brother's account, for more than his whole estate could answer.

The unhappy youth was quickly informed of his father's distress, and flew to his relief with all the speed that filial piety could give. One of their friends who was present, told me, there never was a more moving interview. After a long pause of silent sorrow, the old gentleman charged his son, not to involve himself in any straits on his account, but leave him to suffer the effects of his own imprudence.

I know, (continued he,) the happiness of your life depends on your marriage with the gentle Lemira, which will be entirely frustrated by your being con ⚫cerned in this affair; nor is your whole fortune sufficient to disengage me from this confinement; but death will soon bring me a full discharge from a per plexity, into which my too great credulity, and illplaced compassion has betrayed me. Yet this, and any thing, I can endure with fortitude, rather than you ⚫ shall ruin your own fortune to extricate mine. Pray • leave me, (said he), the concern your looks discover, is at present my heaviest affliction."

་

The sorrowful youth immediately withdrew;

and,

sending for all the creditors, found that his whole stock, except what was at sea, added to his father's, would hardly do justice to many honest traders' demands, who must be ruined with their families, without satisfaction. But to whatever exigence he reduced himself, he resolved to discharge his father; which he soon accomplished by a handsome composition.

Valerius' whole dependence now was on the return of the Turky fleet, where he had considerable effects. But my father was so angry with him for engaging in his father's affairs, that he forbid me ever seeing or thinking any more of him as a lover. Nor did the torrent of his

adversity stop here; for, within a few days, he had intelligence, that two ships belonging to him, richly laden, were in their return taken by a Spanish pirate.

I was soon informed of this disaster, and wrote immediately to Valerius, in the softest language that a pas sion like mine could dictate; and (to conceal nothing from you) I offered to marry him, and put into his possession that part of my fortune which was left by my aunt, entirely in my own power. If you should condemn this romantic instance of affection in me, you will certainly approve the conduct of my young philosopher, who, in this crisis of love and adversity, could act with such composure and true greatness of mind, as you will find expressed in the following letter.

To Lemira.

The distress I am in, too generous Lemira, has not reduced me to such an abject disposition, as, by accepting the offer you make me of your fortune, to betray you into a state of necessity and contempt, on so low a motive as my own interest. Far be such a sel'fish view for ever from my soul! You wrong me, and your own charms, if you think the passion they have inspired, will suffer me to act any thing unbecoming its grandeur. However my fortunes are sunk, my mind keeps its native elevation, and is untainted with any selfish or mercenary design. If I loved you less,